A Safe Place

Last night my sweet three year old was crying out in his sleep, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"  I went into his room, stroked his sweaty little cheek and prayed over him.  I told his little sleeping mind and spirit that he hasn't been given a spirit of fear but of a sound mind.  He quieted down.

I marveled that just hearing my voice made him calm down.  I stood there for a moment feeling every inch a mother.

Over vacation a habit sprung up between my boys and I.  When walking through a crowd, across a parking lot or in a public place, I put my hands down at my side palms open.  Within seconds a smaller hand is placed in mine.  When something scary is on t.v. or the cartoon is especially intense, I find my lap filled with wiggledy, squiddley little boy-ness.  On the Pirates of the Caribbean ride I found my side and my arms filled with a slightly shaking 7 year old who would giggle nervously when I pointed out the silly displays. 

Growing up I remember waking up early to hear my father get ready for work.  When he was deployed to the field for weeks/months at a time, I didn't sleep as well.  Then he was my safe place.

Now as an old married lady, when I travel alone I take all the pillows in the hotel room and pack them around me to sleep.  My safe place is between a warm dachshund and a warmer husband.

I have become my sons safe place.  Me.  The often impatient and always a bit frantic mother.  A safe place.

It's at once humbling and overwhelming.  I know this will not last forever.  I know their hands will soon enough dwarf mine and the last place they will want to be is with me.  Until that sad day, I'll keep my hands at my sides and my lap open-a safe place for my sweet babies.